


Maestro

by gotophergophergo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (Never) What you Wanted, Asshole!John, M/M, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotophergophergo/pseuds/gotophergophergo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, a while back I was reading this lovely work by Zenelly and I just fell in love. This was born of that. </p><p>Please, do yourself a favor and read (Never) What You Wanted so you can cry with me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maestro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zenelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenelly/gifts).
  * Inspired by [(Never) What You Wanted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/807575) by [zenelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenelly/pseuds/zenelly). 



It started out so softly you almost didn't catch it. The soft brush of fingertips on ivory and black. The fluttering notes pulling you in with a raw energy. You responded without hesitation, on some primal level that was so utterly beyond your control. Something inside you moved, lifted, pulled towards the source of the melody, and the dance began. Your feet stumbled forward with little regard for what lay ahead. By the time you came to yourself you had been dancing for months, strung up along the notes, your whole life wrapped up in this rhythm you found more alluring than the sweetest nectar. It was far too late when you realized who stood at the center of the rising crescendos and the ebbing waves of latent energies that he so effortlessly extracted from what seemed like nothing. He conjured the music as if from the very breath in his lungs.

Somehow, the edges of your relationship with him began to fray. The boundary lines faded, melting together, daring you both to reach towards the other. There were months of awkward touches, heated brushes, longing, and abruptly, he let you in. Even if it was just a crack, a foot in the door, if you would, you let yourself think that maybe... Maybe this could work. You hoped. You knew your preference, and just maybe, his was changing. You should have known better than to hope.

It was nearly midterms again and the stress of the semester was settling on your shoulders heavier than normal. It might just be your current mood. Even Karkat had noticed that you were more tense than usual. You had taken to seclusion but for some reason, you were never bothered by the overly exuberant, shouty asshole. In fact, his rants seemed to loosen the knots in your back. His anger was often times short of rage, and the way he went on, well, you just couldn't help but crack a smile around him. That was especially true when you felt extra shitty. The little guy would look at you with this expression, you weren't sure how to describe. Brotherly camaraderie? Motherly affection? Anyway, he would give you this look and you knew he was going to do his best to pull that wry smile of yours onto your face. You left the art building that day, feeling better than you went in, your mind buzzing with ideas of what you were going to do with your final project for the semester. Karkat's rant about pretentious assholes in the creative writing program had once again served as a much needed relaxer for you. With your headphones in you made it across campus and back to the dorm before you knew it. Your stomach did an involuntary flip at the sight of your door and who you knew lay within it.

You didn't know what to expect from John these days. You hesitated with your hand a few centimeters from the handle before pulling a deep breath into your lungs. You tugged the earphones out of your ears and let them fall around your shoulders, squared up to the door and...Turn. Push. Step inside.

“Hey Dave, didn't hear you leave this morning. How was class?” John turned his head as you came in, dropping your bag on the floor. His blue eyes tracked your motions through the room. You felt the familiar eyes studying you. Every inch. They ran your length, from the shades sitting on your nose, to your feet and then back. His gaze fell so easily, like he didn't even noticed he was doing it. You sigh inwardly thinking that it couldn’t be more true. You think how you used to like it when those blue eyes picked you apart. Lately it just made the stomach twisting anxiety so much worse. “Hey, you okay?”

“Huh?” You notice you never replied because all your breath runs out of your lungs with the word. Goddamnit, Dave, you were holding your breath? What a fucking idiot. “Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking about how to answer. That's a fucking loaded question, you know.” You sit down on the bed, noticing the look on John's face. It says he doesn't believe you. You do what you do best. Deflect. “Pretty ok I guess. Normal until pottery, which was great. Karkat and I are sitting on the wheel, and his friend, some weirdo stoner kid, he comes in right, and is all trying to get him to leave class. Something about 'Motherfuckin' bonding time bro' and the kid just loses it.” You let your voice drop a bit to mimic the tall gangly guy from earlier, the side of John's mouth quirks into the beginnings of a smile. “I have never seen him spit shit quite like he did today. He didn't stop for like, a good, five or ten minutes. He was so worked up he was nearly throwing clay. The whole class room just stopped to listen. It was enchanting. The sickest of shit, in a weird poetically pissed way, you know what I mean? You better watch out Egbert, I might be swooning over someone else.”

John's little giggle hiccups and cuts out early, a flustered expression crossing his features for a moment. Your stomach flips again and you suddenly feel like you are going to be sick. “What about you Egbert? Still studying for your tests on the birds and the bees? I'm telling you, I could teach you more about that than your silly biology classes.” You raise an eyebrow in attempt to ease the suddenly tense mood as you stand and saunter towards the bathroom. You feel his eyes on you again. An odd tingling sensation in your lower back that means he is staring. You hurry to retreat from that gaze.

“Shut up Dave.” The frown is audible in his voice. He begins to talk about the mundane bullshit that is always at work in his life and makes it sound, like always, that it is probably harder than it is. You have known for a long time that John likes to make things harder for himself than strictly necessary. You turn on the water to the sink, no longer listening to John when he mentions that girl again. It was probably some awkward encounter in the hall. You put it out of your mind as you take off your glasses and set them on the counter before splashing cold water over your face. “Dave, really, are you ok?”

You jump. John is standing behind you. You must have zoned out too long. The water drips off your face for a moment as you look at him through the mirror. You grab a towel and pat at your face before you turn to face him. Before you can say anything his mouth is on yours, his fingers working up the nape of your neck and into your hair. Electricity pulses through you in a wave that leaves the tips of your fingers tingling. You are hyper aware and numb all at the same time, your body a ghost, and everything important in the world is attached at the lips. Slowly, you become aware that there is pressure along the length of your body. Heat floods into you like your blood is trying to jump from your veins. You feel your pulse beating in your temples. John pulls away from the kiss to look up at you, those blue eyes flitting upward to meet yours. There is a question in them, and worry too. You realize that your hands are hovering a few inches off his shoulders. You give yourself the slightest of shakes. Your body is still on fire. John is pressed against you in all the ways you could hope, and yet, not close enough.

“Yeah, I'm just a little tired is all.” You say, finally able to find your voice. You try your best to make it even but you are sure it rasps a little, catches in your throat. John doesn't seem to notice, and he doesn't let go of you either. You let your hands rest on his shoulders and gently try to disentangle yourself from him. He holds you fast. His eyes tell you that he hopes you aren't too tired nearly as well as the growing pressure against your thigh. The longing in his eyes makes your heart do somersaults. “Fine, you brat.” You are long since used to this selfish, one-sided relationship, and despite the feeling that you shouldn't be, you can't seem to break it off. The feel of his lips on your neck sends little fire works down your spine as he trails butterfly kisses along your collar bone.

The softness is nice, almost like he cares, but it fades quickly as the growing pressure of his erection makes him thrust against your thigh. You know you would ask to much of him if you ask anything at all, so you don't. You let him direct, as always, only taking the lead in setting the pace and he succumbs to the throes before you do. Your body sings, it dances over his, hot breath and sweat. Your hands roam each other after you both come to release. He looks pleasantly fulfilled. You do your best to mock the expression even though the pit in your stomach makes you feel empty. The questions are still at the tip of your tongue. They always are. You are tempted to say stupid things. To force him to be only yours. You know none of this is worth it. That the boy laying in your arms is stubborn and oblivious beyond anyone you have ever met. You know what will happen if you push him. The song and dance will stop. You have grown so used to it's rhythm that you aren't sure what you would do with the silence, and that scares you more than anything else in the world.

As he dozes you draw lazy circles over his shoulders with your fingers to an unheard symphony in the back of your mind. At least in the quiet of this tiny room, wrapped in his warmth, curled against him, you can feel like the world doesn't exist for a few moments. You can let it melt away and exalt in the sheer beauty of the song you seem to be contributing to for just a few moments, but you know you are merely a brief intermission in this program. You are so utterly engulfed in the flood of sound that echoes from the recesses of your mind that you almost miss him turning to face you. He places a small kiss on the tip of your nose before curling against your chest, fitting to your side like you were cut for each other, his forehead resting gently against yours. You smile, and not one of practiced restraint like normal. Your bones feel warm.

You watch him fall asleep before letting your own eyes close. As sleep takes you, you think for a brief moment that it would be nice if he loved you the way he loves his music. The concerto plays. The maestro sits in front of the piano, fingering the keys idly, as if nothing in the world were easier or more natural. The notes glide through the air. You sit stationary atop the resounding instrument, engulfed in the sound, like waves, like thunder, lightning, no, the wind. He plays for an audience of one: himself. You are merely the instrument, and oddly, you find yourself not caring, as he reaches up, and runs soft fingertips along your cheek. The melody rises and falls, like the air in your lungs and again you wish you could just sink into him. The world fades, wavers and your dream slides into darkness until the piano is, once again, all you can hear. Soft, like the breath brushing your cheek in the afternoon light.


End file.
